


Begin Again

by songofthe52hertzwhale



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: M/M, One-sided Julian/Logan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 11:52:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14519943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofthe52hertzwhale/pseuds/songofthe52hertzwhale
Summary: Post Hell-Night, Julian's struggling to be himself again. Clark's there to help him find his way.





	Begin Again

When the knock sounds at his door, Julian assumes it’s his mother. He doesn’t bother acknowledging it, knows she’ll walk in anyway to check on him. When the door opens, though, it’s not Dolce Larson who steps into the room.

“Clark?”

The blond smiles, gives Julian a slight wave.

“Hey,” he says, “Mind if I come in?”

Julian sits up, leans against the mountain of pillows on his bed.

“What are you doing here?”

“Your mom called,” Clark’s still smiling, kindly. He hasn’t moved closer, “She said she thought you could use a friend.”

Julian scoffs, "she thinks I’m going crazy.”

“She _thinks_ you’re hurting,” Clark clarifies, patient as always, “She thinks you’re bottling things up, and that you might need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t need a shrink,” Julian crosses his arms, pulling the blankets tighter against his chest, “I’m _fine_.”

“It’s okay to not be, you know.”

Julian doesn’t respond, just frowns over at him.

“Maybe you are fine,” Clark continues, “But just in case you’re not, I want you to know that you have people who care about you. People who’d be willing to listen, if you want to talk about things.”

He reaches into his waistband, pulls out an envelope and sets it on Julian’s dresser.

“Patrick made us all sign a card for you,” he says, “ _Some_ people got a little too sappy, but I promised I’d bring it to you.”

He sends another smile Julian’s way, turns to leave.

“Wait!” Julian calls, before he can stop himself. Clark looks back at him.

“I…I do want to. Talk. Um,” he takes a breath, pulls his legs up to make room, “You can sit, if you want.”

Clark looks a little relieved, moves over to perch at the end of the bed.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says, still with that kind, patient smile.

Julian opens his mouth.

 

.

 

He doesn’t tell him everything. Not right away. But talking a little, having someone so willing to _listen —_ it helps. Clark isn’t like his doctors, doesn’t evaluate everything he says. He isn’t like Dolce, who keeps trying to give Julian advice. He just lets Julian talk, squeezes his hand when he starts to get a little emotional.

It’s _nice_.

It takes a week, but Clark finally coaxes him into leaving the house, just for a little while. He disguises himself fairly well, wraps himself up in a too-big hoodie and keeps his sunglasses over his eyes. Clark’s almost impossible to hide, with his ridiculous height and his golden hair, but they manage.

Clark drives them out of the city, heads east until they hit a small town, one free from all the noise of Hollywood. Takes Julian to a movie theater, where he can hide in the dark, away from prying eyes.

“It’s one of Cameron’s,” Clark explains, handing over money for the tickets, “Hey said it’s the cheesiest thing he’s ever done, but that it was really fun. I thought it’d be easy for you to watch.”

He buys Julian a water and popcorn, watches him carefully during the previews to make sure he’s okay.

He’d been right about the movie. It _is_ cheesy, remarkably so, and one day Julian’s going to mock Cameron for agreeing to play the younger brother of the lead in a buddy cop comedy. But it’s _fun_ , doesn’t have anything that sends Julian into a spiral of anxiety-ridden thoughts. The action scenes are over-the-top, the humor relying mostly on puns and pop culture references that won’t age well.

“Look at that asshole,” Clark leans over and whispers, when Cameron has a very unnecessary and rather gratuitous shirtless scene, “Is he trying to _flex_ right now?”

Julian muffles a laugh in his hand, realizes, belatedly, that this is the first time he’s _smiled_ since the fire.

The credits roll, and Clark lets the theater empty before taking Julian’s arm, helping him up and out of the building.

“Thanks,” he says softly, as Clark leads him back to the car, “This was nice.”

“You don’t think I’d _only_ take you to a movie, did you?” Clark opens the door for him, helps him into his seat, “I’m _loaded_ , you know, I can afford better than that.”

Julian’s confused, but Clark just gives him a reassuring smile, gets into the driver’s seat and pulls back onto the road. He makes a few turns, directs the car up a long, winding road.

There’s music playing, softly, and Clark sings along. Julian’s always liked Clark’s voice; he leans back and listens, an odd sense of _calm_ creeping into his body. They reach the top of what appears to be a cliff, and Clark pulls the car beside a tree and parks.

“Where are we?” Julian asks, looking around. There’s nothing around that he can see, and Clark grins beside him.

“Just trust me, okay?”

He gets out, rummages through the trunk of the car. Julian steps out a little slower, leans against the car door.

“…is that a picnic basket?”

“Well I can’t take you to an _actual_ restaurant,” Clark explains, jogging towards him and taking his arm, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you travel more than thirty feet without being swarmed by teenage girls.”

“Like _you’re_ one to talk.”

Clark laughs, leads him away from the car. He doesn’t make Julian travel far, thankfully — they head through a small gathering of trees, stop at a small clearing.

“…wow,” Julian breathes, staring out at the view.

It’s _beautiful_. They must’ve driven to a higher elevation than Julian thought; he can see the ocean, stretching out for miles, the water dark blue and sparkling.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

Julian turns, lips quirking on one side, “This is where you take girls to make out, isn’t it?”

“No,” Clark says simply, and sets his basket down, “I’ve never taken anyone here.”

Julian’s a little taken aback by that, stares as Clark pulls out a thick blanket and spreads it across the grass. He starts taking food out of the basket - sandwiches, a container of fruit, a bottle of juice, a Tupperware that appears to contain brownies.

“You can lean against me if you need to,” he says, dropping to sit cross-legged on the blanket, “I know it’s like impossible for you to sit comfortably right now.”

Julian smiles, gingerly sinks to the ground beside him. He does have to lean against Clark, much to his embarrassment, but the blond just rubs at his shoulder, shifts until Julian looks comfortable. Hands him a sandwich.

“Turkey, right? That’s what you usually grab from craft services, at least.”

“Yeah,” Julian takes a bite, chews slowly, “You really pay attention to what I eat on set?”

Clark shrugs, biting into his own sandwich, “I pay attention to my friends. Besides, sometimes you forget to eat, you know. I’m just trying to make sure you take care of yourself.”

“…is that why you’re doing this? To take care of me?”

Clark looks a little sad, when he turns to meet Julian’s eyes.

“I’m just really worried about you, Julian. We all are.”

Julian reaches for a strawberry, pops it into his mouth so he doesn’t have to respond.

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like,” Clark continues, “How scared you must have been. Reed said—“

“You talked to Reed?” Julian looks up, feels the blood draining from his face.

“Of course I did. He’s my stepbrother.”

“Did he…what did he tell you?”

Clark’s silence is damning.

Julian pulls away, tries to keep the bad, _awful_ thoughts from invading his mind again. He can feel his hands shaking, his lungs struggling to take in air.

Clark’s reaching for him, hands gripping Julian’s shoulders.

“Hey,” he says, softly, “You don’t have to talk about any of that, okay? You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. I just need you to know that I’m still here, alright? No matter what, I’m still your friend.”

“He—he made me…made me say…” a sob bursts from his throat, and Julian tips forward, lets Clark pull him into his chest.

“I know,” Clark murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into his back, “It’s okay, Julian. It’s gonna be okay.”

 

.

 

It’s Julian’s choice, to be in the next — and last — season of _Something Damaged_. The producers had told him they understood, that they’d find a way to write his character out if he wasn’t ready. But he’s dedicated years to this show already, knows how much his character means to fans.

Knows that, if he can’t handle _this—_ can’t make it through filming a teen drama with people he considers his friends—he won’t be able to handle anything.

The first day back on set is weird.

Clark picks him up in the morning, asks him twice on the drive over if he’s _sure_ he wants to do this.

“I need to,” Julian tells him, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands, “I need to be _me_ again.”

That seems to be enough, and Clark doesn’t broach the topic again.

Everyone looks up when he walks in, visibly tries not to stare at him as Clark ushers him into the appropriate room. Everyone else is already there, seated around a table with scripts in front of them.

It’s silent, for a few seconds.

Marcie moves first, flings herself out of her seat and pulls Julian into the gentlest hug she’s capable of.

“Don’t crowd him, Marce,” Nathan says, reaching out to tug her away, “Let him sit, I’m sure he’s dying to take a look at the script.”

Isabel looks up, eyes wide, “Can we not make _dying_ jokes, please?”

Julian smiles, “It’s fine, really. I have a list of really inappropriate almost-dying jokes to make in interviews.”

Patrick straightens, grinning wildly, “I have _so many_ , man, like just tell them you were super behind on sleep, or that you were doing a performative art piece or a social experiment, or—“

“How about you just write them down for him, hm?” Cameron cuts him off, leans over to pull Julian’s chair out for him. He looks at him a little worriedly, like he’s waiting for Julian to break in front of them.

Julian just sits, offers him a small smile. He feels Clark drop into the seat beside him, place a hand on his arm.

“Hey,” he says, softly enough so nobody else hears, “If you need to take a break, let me know, alright? Please.”

Julian nods, and Clark leans back, pulling his script into his lap.

He can still feel the eyes on him, knows every person in the room is staring at him. He tries to ignore it, leans forward and flips through the script, looking for his scenes.

There aren’t as much as he usually has. He’s sure they’re doing it to make sure he can handle it, cutting back on his work until they’re sure he’s healed enough to make it through filming. Nevertheless, he pores over the scenes, repeats his lines in his head until he has them memorized.

He makes it through the reading without issue. There’s an air of tension in the room every time his part comes up, a collective sigh of relief when he recites his lines perfectly.

The producers pull him aside after, ask him _again_ if he’s sure he can do this. He’s a little sick of the question, at this point, but just pastes on a smile, promises them he’s fine.

Clark and Cameron are huddled together, when he turns back, hurriedly pull away when he walks towards them.

“I’m _fine_ , Cam,” he says, “Really. Think Clark would let me back if he thought I was a total wreck?”

“I think you’re good at hiding how you really feel,” Cameron crosses his arms, looks down at Julian, “I think you wouldn’t tell him if you weren’t okay.”

“Don’t worry about him,” Clark says, looping his arm around Julian’s waist, “I’m looking out for him. Promise.”

 

.

 

 

Clark _does_ look out for him.

Before, it would’ve bothered Julian. He never liked being taken care of, hated being treated like a child. But now, after everything, he hates being alone more. It _does_ things to him, being alone with his thoughts, and he doesn’t like it.

Clark’s become a calming presence in his life, something Julian knows he can rely on. He never forces Julian to talk, sometimes just sits with him for hours in silence. He brings over new video games, makes Julian watch old movies. Plays ideas for new songs he has.

“You don’t have to do all this,” Julian says, one day, “I mean I appreciate it, I really do. But I know you probably have better things to do then watch me do physical therapy.”

Clark’s fingers freeze on his guitar. He takes a breath, sets it down and looks Julian in the eye.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” He asks, suddenly very serious, “When you were in the hospital?”

He doesn’t look like he expects a response, so Julian stays quiet, waits for him to continue.

“I was luckier than the others, you know. The news was reporting that you…that you died. But I saw them pull you away. I could tell you were still breathing, at least. And even when your mom wouldn’t let anyone in the hospital room, I still…they still told me you were alive.”

He takes a breath, and Julian’s a little startled to see tears forming in Clark’s eyes.

“They couldn’t tell if you were gonna wake up or not. What you’d be like if you _did_ wake up. I started googling, a lot. Looked up the chances of brain damage. I was scared to see you, when I heard you'd opened your eyes. I was scared that you wouldn’t be you, anymore.”

“Well,” Julian says, trying to lighten the mood, “I am. Still a total asshole, you know.”

Clark almost cracks a smile, “I don’t think you’re an asshole. I think you’re scared to let people see you.”

“…I’m not…”

“You don’t talk about _real_ things, most of the time. You don’t let people see you get upset. You won’t even tell people your _birthday_.”

“Clark…”

“I get it, though. I do. I mean, I was a teenager when I started to get famous and it was hard enough. I can’t imagine living your whole life in the spotlight, since you have. I’d probably hide things too.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Julian says, “You’re braver than that.”

“You tried to sacrifice yourself to keep other people from burning to death. I don’t think you get to say you aren’t brave ever again.”

Julian ducks his head, smiles to himself.

“Hey,” Clark leans forward, takes Julian’s hand, “I talked to Reed again this morning. He said they’re all asking about you. Asking him if I’ve heard anything.”

“What did you say?”

“That they’d hear from you when you’re ready.”

Julian thinks about that for a moment.

“Could you tell him…he can tell them I’m okay. That I’m just…trying to get back to normal, for now. And uh…that I’m sorry.”

Clark frowns, “Sorry for what?”

“Dragging them into this. Reed…all of them…they shouldn’t have been there. I should’ve done something. Told someone.”

“Julian…” Clark clears his throat, brings his hand to Julian’s chin and tilts his head up, “This wasn’t your fault. Yes, you should’ve told someone. But that doesn’t make any of this your fault. You didn’t _force_ that guy to hurt your friends. You didn’t set that building on fire. It’s _his_ fault. Not yours.”

“I should’ve…”

“Stop,” says Clark, firmly, “Stop blaming yourself. Nobody else does.”

He cups Julian’s face, large hands framing his jaw.

“Promise you’ll try,” he says, “Promise you’ll try to stop blaming yourself.”

Julian’s breath catches in his throat. He’s frozen under Clark’s intense gaze, stilled by those blue eyes drilling into him. Clark’s hands are soft against his skin, thumbs stroking across his cheekbones. There’s a strange feeling welling up in his chest, something Julian doesn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with right now.

“…okay,” he says, finally, “I’ll try.”

 

.

 

“Are you going to respond?”

Julian looks up, phone still held in his hands.

“I know they’re still texting you. Your friends, from school.”

Julian lets out a breath, stares back down at the screen.

_Please answer me, Jules._

_I don’t want to not have you in my life._

_We’re worried about you._

_Reed says you’re filming again. Are you sure that's a good idea?_

_Are you coming back to school?_

_Please talk to Derek, at least._

_Please, Julian._

_I miss you_. _So much._

There’s more. Dozens more, dating back to the day he’d leapt out of that burning building. Texts from Logan, from Derek, from everyone back at school who’d managed to get a hold of his number. He’d deleted some of them, ignored the messages from people he’d never spoken to before.

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“You could tell them that,” Clark suggests, “Say you’re not ready to talk, but that you’re okay.”

“They know I’m okay,” Julian locks his screen, sets his phone down, “TMZ published those pictures from when we got pizza the other day.”

“Don’t you think they maybe deserve to hear it from you, too?”

Julian knows he’s right. He knows Clark’s a lot more logical than him. Knows that if Clark thinks he should respond to them, it means he probably should. But he knows one text is going to bring down an avalanche of things he isn’t ready to deal with. He has no idea what he’d even _say_ to Logan, has no idea what Logan expects him to at this point. He can’t even consider the possibility of reaching out to Derek — he knows it’ll hurt Logan if he responds to Derek and not him, and he can’t bear the thought of hurting him any more.

“I just can’t,” he mutters, pulling his knees to his chest, “I’m not ready.”

He hears Clark sigh, softly. Knows he’s disappointed him. Part of him expects Clark to get up, to walk out on him.

But it doesn’t happen.

“Could I tell them, then?” He asks, “I know I don’t know them, but maybe if they heard from me, instead…”

“Do whatever you want.”

It comes out harsher than he’d meant, and Clark quiets.

He still doesn’t give up on him, though.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Julian can feel Clark’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up.

“…we were thinking about doing a stripped-down version of _Angel Eyes_ for our next show. Let me know if this sucks, okay?”

He picks his guitar back up, starts strumming out a melody before Julian can respond. Julian recognizes the song — it’s one of his favorites — but he’s never heard Clark sing it like this. There’s more raw emotion in his voice, a note he almost _growls_ towards the end. He gets into it, is obviously _feeling_ something as he sings. His breathing is heavy, when he finishes.

“…well? Did it sound alright?”

Julian’s not entirely sure why he does it.

Maybe it’s the song — he’s never been _that close_ to someone singing a love song, never seen the emotion behind it that clearly.

Maybe it’s the loneliness. Maybe he just craves human affection _that_ badly.

Maybe it’s _Clark_.

Whatever the reason is, Julian finds himself leaning forward, pressing his lips against Clark’s.

And somehow, miraculously, Clark kisses him back.

 

.

 

It doesn’t really change things between them.

That kiss becomes just another thing they don’t talk about.

It doesn’t change the way Clark treats him, doesn’t change how hard it is to deal with things.

But it does change _Julian_.

He finds himself staring at Clark more than he used to, watching as he strums a guitar or flips through a script. Catches himself smiling when Clark does. At night, when he’s trying to force himself to sleep, Clark invades his mind more often than he’d like.

It doesn’t erase Logan. Not completely.

But it makes it easier, somehow — Clark is something _good_ in his life, someone he knows won’t abandon him, no matter how fucked-up he is. Thinking about Clark doesn’t _hurt_.

He’s not sure what to do about the kiss, though.

Clark hasn’t brought it up, and Julian’s starting to wonder if he regrets it. If, maybe, he only kissed Julian back because he knew how much Julian needed it, knew how comforting it would be.

But Julian also knows Clark isn’t usually like that, wouldn’t lead him and kiss back if part of him didn’t want it.

It’s _weeks_ before Julian works up the courage to address it.

“Hey,” he says quietly one day, when him and Clark are going over scripts in his trailer, “Um…look, I wanted to…about that kiss…”

Clark sets his script down, looks at Julian evenly.

“Are you still in love with him? That guy, back at school?”

“…yeah. Yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter,” Clark says. His voice is kind, despite the obvious rejection coming, “I don’t want to be someone you use as a distraction, Julian. That isn’t fair to either of us.”

Julian feels almost stupid, now. He bites his lower lip, fiddles with the hem of his shirt.

“You kissed me back,” he says, a little childishly.

Clark smiles, “Well. You’re a really good kisser.”

He’s looking at Julian so kindly, and the sun is streaming through the window, lighting his hair up golden. Julian leans forward, unconsciously, only to be stopped by Clark’s hand on his chest.

“I mean it,” Clark says, “I’m not a temporary thing.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to be temporary.”

Clark’s eyes darken a little, and his hand slides up, comes to rest against Julian’s neck.

“Well I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

He’s so close Julian can smell his heather-and-lavender soap, can feel his breath against his skin. Clark smiles, softly, rubs the tip of his thumb against Julian’s jaw.

“I promise.”

 

.

 

He calls Logan on a Wednesday.

He means to text, to wait for Logan to message again and respond with a simple, _I’m fine_.

But that doesn’t quite sound right.

He owes Logan more than that.

“…Jules?”

Logan’s voice is soft, almost awestruck.

“Hey.”

There’s a soft laugh over the line, and Logan stumbles over his words for a moment.

“I…wow…you…I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Who else would it be?”

“We uh…we weren’t sure you’d talk to us again.”

“Yeah. Neither was I.”

Logan’s quiet for a moment.

“…when are you coming back?”

“I’m not.”

Logan doesn’t respond.

“You didn’t really think I’d come back after all that, did you?”

“But you…” Logan’s voice hitches a little, “You always come back. Always.”

“I was planning on leaving even before everything. It just…it doesn’t make sense, anymore. I have tutors on set, I don’t need to keep going to school. Besides, I have a ton of stuff coming up. I don’t exactly have time for senior year.”

“…it’s because of me, isn’t it?”

“Don’t do this.”

“We can’t just _not talk about it_ , Julian!”

“That’s _exactly_ what we’re going to do,” Julian snaps, “Because I _don’t want to_.”

“Well _I_ do.”

“Maybe I’m done doing what _you_ want all the time.”

“…that isn’t fair, Jules. I had no _idea_ …”

“Look, Logan,” Julian cuts him off, “I only called to tell you I’m doing okay. I’m not…I’m not really ready for anything more than that. I’m not coming back to Dalton. I can’t. Please understand that.”

“…okay. I understand.”

“Thank you,” Julian says, “Just…tell Derek I’ll text later, okay? Goodbye, Logan.”

“…bye.”

He hangs up, breathes a sigh of relief.

He knows they didn’t really _talk_ about anything. Somehow, though, he still feels relief. It’s nice, knowing Logan doesn’t completely hate him. He’d almost expected to completely break down on that call, is _proud_ of himself for keeping it together.

 _I did it_ , he texts Clark, _I talked to him_.

Clark responds with just one word.

_Dinner?_

 

.

 

 

“You could come with us, if you want.”

Clark’s packing his guitar up, gingerly placing it in a case and snapping it shut.

“To Dalton,” Julian blinks at him, “Where you’re performing at _my_ prom.”

“Your prom that you don’t plan on going to.”

“I still get winded _walking_ sometimes. You really think I could manage a dance?”

“That’s the only reason?”

Clark’s giving him that knowing look again, raising a single eyebrow his direction.

“…they deserve to have a normal prom,” Julian says, “Me being there…it would just make things weird. I don’t want to ruin their night.”

“Okay,” Clark stands, pulling the guitar with him, “It’s your choice. I won’t push it.”

“Enjoy my prom.”

“I will,” Clark grins, “The guys decided we’re all dressing up. _Disney_ -themed, I love your school.”

“…I’m gonna miss you.”

Clark’s gaze softens. He takes a step closer. Julian tilts his chin up, half-closes his eyes. But Clark just presses his lips to Julian’s forehead, right below his hairline.

“Take care of yourself, alright?” He murmurs, squeezing Julian’s arm, “Call me if you need anything.”

“I think I can manage without you for a few days.”

The words sound like a lie, even to him.

 

.

 

Julian’s a little _too_ excited to see Clark when he gets back.

He tries to contain himself. Stops himself from waiting at the airport, or meeting him at Haven’s mansion.

Raven posts a picture on Instagram as they land, the whole band huddled together, grinning into the camera. Clark’s leaning against Sinclair, his hair a little mussed from the flight. Julian stares at it for a while, smiles down at Clark’s face.

He doesn’t expect to see Clark for a day or two. He knows Clark probably needs to catch up on sleep; he’d looked tired in the photograph. Clark will probably text him tomorrow, ask him how his physical therapy’s been going, make sure he’s been sleeping and eating enough.

What he definitely _doesn’t_ expect is for Clark to show up just two hours after that Instagram post.

He’s changed clothes, from the plane, but still looks just as exhausted as he did in the picture.

“Hey,” he smiles when Julian opens the door, “You know I didn’t think about it until I was already here, but I had no idea if you’d actually be home or not. I probably should have texted.”

Julian just laughs and lets him in, steps aside to let Clark pass. But Clark seems to have a different idea, reaches for Julian and pulls him into a hug, instead.

The height difference always seems to surprise him, a little. He’s not _short_ by anyone’s definition, but Clark is a _giant_ , can rest his chin comfortably on top of Julian’s head. He wraps his arms around Julian’s torso, enveloping him in warmth.

“So you missed me, then?”

Clark laughs, chest rumbling pleasantly, “I might’ve. A little.”

“Well I missed you too,” Julian smiles, pulls back to look at him, “How was prom?”

“Horribly cliche,” Clark says, “So many teenagers grinding on each other.”

“To _Disney_ songs?”

“Apparently the soundtrack to Tarzan is an aphrodisiac.”

Julian gapes at him for a moment. Clark’s lips quirk.

“Oh god, you’re fucking with me.”

Clark laughs, a pleasant sound that makes Julian shiver a little.

“Your one friend — Derek? — he did take off with his date pretty early. They were definitely getting a little R-rated.”

“Good for him,” Julian smiles. Derek had texted him, a few weeks ago, about Casey agreeing to go to prom with him.

“…Logan didn’t dance with anyone. All night. He um…he kind of looked like he was waiting for someone.”

Julian pulls back and lowers his eyes.

“Well it wasn’t me,” he says, “He was probably just upset he couldn’t convince Kurt to go with him.”

“You sure about that?”

Clark hesitates for a second. He reaches for his pocket, pulls out a folded envelope.

“He tracked me down at the end of the night. Asked me to bring this to you. He said it was important.”

Julian just stares at it. His name is scrawled across the front in Logan’s handwriting. Clark takes his hand, places the envelope in it.

“I promised I’d give it to you. I didn’t promise you’d read it. That’s up to you.”

Julian doesn’t know what to say. His fingers close around the letter, eyes tracing over the letters of his name.

“…think I could crash here for a little while?” Clark asks, “I think I might fall asleep at the wheel if I try to drive home right now.”

“Yeah,” Julian snaps out of his daze, shoves the letter in his own pocket, “Yeah come on, you can sleep in my room.”

Clark smiles gratefully, follows him upstairs to the bedroom. He kicks off his shoes and slips off his jacket, drapes it over a chair.

The letter gets tossed onto Julian’s bookshelf, and he joins Clark on the bed. It isn’t awkward at all. They’ve napped together on set before, have even _cuddled_ in the trailers.

Somehow though, this feels different. Julian tries to tell himself they’re so close because Clark’s so _big;_ there just isn’t any other option. But that doesn’t explain why he curls into Clark’s side, how one of Clark’s arms winds its way around his waist. Doesn’t explain why Julian buries his face in Clark’s chest, inhales the comforting scent of his soap and _Clark-ness_.

They both fall asleep soon enough. Clark because he’s exhausted, Julian because he just feels so _comfortable_.

Logan’s letter lies forgotten on the shelf.

 

.

 

 

Somehow, by some wonderful twist of coincidence or fate or luck, Clark’s cast in Julian’s next movie.

It’s _nice_ , being able to show up to set with one of his best friends, to read lines and talk character motivation together. Weird, in a way, to be playing in a dynamic so different from the characters they’d played on Something Damaged.

But he needs this, in a way. He’s finally forced himself to admit that he’s _not_ okay, that he’ll likely carry some issues with him for the rest of his life. Having Clark around relaxes him, keeps him from winding himself up too much. Clark’s always been good at figuring out when he’s overworked, has always pulled him away just before he breaks. He gets Julian to agree — albeit _very_ reluctantly — to use a stunt double for certain scenes, give his body a little bit of a break.

The filming schedule isn’t as intense as he’s used to. He suspects his mother might have something to do with that, might have finally exercised the _my-son-is-a-minor-and-can’t-legally-work-this-many-hours-consecutively_ card. He’s only actively on camera for five or six hours a day, gets long breaks while other scenes are filmed.

He takes a lot of naps, quietly works on physical therapy exercises when nobody’s around to see.

“…what are you doing?”

Julian looks over through his legs, sees Clark’s confused face at the door of his trailer.

“Downward dog,” he says, pulling out of the pose, “They have me doing a lot of yoga. Trying to get my flexibility back, you know?”

He moves into a puppy dog pose, feels some of the tight muscles in his legs stretch more than they used to. Clark’s still standing in the doorway, oddly quiet.

“Do they need me back?” Julian asks, pushing further back into the pose, “Anna didn’t finish her scene already, did she?”

“No,” Clark’s voice is a little strained, “They uh…finished my part. I wanted to um…see if you were hungry.”

Julian slides back onto his knees, looks over his shoulder at Clark. The blonde looks oddly flushed, is staring at Julian with a strange expression. Julian suddenly realizes the position he's in, his ass pointed right at the door. How it must look to Clark.

“…oh my god,” Julian huffs out a laugh, quickly pushes himself to his feet, “That wasn’t…yoga’s a lot of shoving your ass in the air, for some reason. I wasn’t trying to…I know you said you didn’t want to.”

Clark swallows, nods a little, “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“That was stupid of me.”

He crosses over to Julian in three steps, pulls him into his arms and gives him, hands-down, _the_ most passionate kiss of his life.

Julian _melts_ into it. Brings his arms up, winds them around Clark’s shoulders. Clark makes a low noise in his throat, deepens the kiss. His hands are at Julian’s waist, sliding under his shirt and skimming across his skin. His tongue slips across Julian’s lips, licking at the seam until Julian opens his mouth. It’s messy, dirtier than Julian would’ve expected from Clark. But he tastes so _good_ , feels so good, and Julian can’t get enough.

Clark pulls away first, hands still at Julian’s hips. They’re both breathing heavily, still pressed close together.

“Not gonna push me away again, are you?” Julian asks, a little breathlessly, “Tell me this was a mistake and you regret it?”

“I should,” Clark’s still stroking at his skin, smiling softly down at him, “I really shouldn’t have done that. But I really wanted to. I still want to.”

“Well don’t stop, then.”

Clark licks his lips, stares down at Julian’s mouth for a moment.

“Have you read his letter yet?”

“…no.”

Clark takes a breath, slides his hands up to cup Julian’s face. He presses their foreheads together for a moment, looks into Julian’s eyes like he’s peering into his soul.

After a few moments, he straightens, pulls his hands away.

“I think you should. Before we talk about this. I think you should hear him out.”

Julian watches him leave, stares at the door as it swings shut behind him.

 

.

 

It still takes him a few days to read the letter.

He picks it up a few times, stares at his own name scrawled across the envelope. Puts it down. On the third try, he gets the envelope open, but can’t bring himself to unfold the paper.

Finally, he grabs the letter, forces himself to sit down and read it.

Twice.

Lets himself cry, just for a few minutes.

Calls Logan.

Cries, again.

When Logan hangs up, Julian shuts off his phone, throws it in a drawer and ignores the world for a while.

He hates how difficult this situation is. Hates how long it takes him to make up his mind. He stays in his room for two days, has Carmen make up an excuse about him having a stomach virus. When he finally turns his phone back on, there’s a dozen worried messages from Clark, a handful of missed calls. Julian almost calls him back.

He grabs his keys, instead.

Judging by the expression on Clark’s face when he opens his door, Julian probably looks like a complete mess. He hasn’t slept well the past few nights, hasn’t really brushed his hair or bothered to change clothes.

“Hey,” Clark says, looking a little surprised, “Are you okay? They said you were sick.”

“I read the letter.”

“…oh.”

Julian’s pretty sure he isn’t imagining the way Clark’s face falls a little. He leans against the doorframe, clears his throat.

“So did he…are you two a thing, or…are you going back to school?”

“Do you still want to kiss me?”

Clark’s brow furrows a little, “I don’t…you’re asking me?”

Julian nods, swallows a little nervously.

“Do you? Or was it just like…you feeling sorry for me. Trying to make me feel like I was worth something.”

“No, I wasn’t…” Clark looks almost offended, “Julian, you’re worth _everything_.”

Julian stares at him for a second. Clark looks so honest, so _earnest_.

He leans forward, presses his lips against Clark’s.

There’s a chorus of cheers from behind him, no doubt from Clark’s band-slash-roommates. He feels Clark wave them off, slide an arm around Julian’s waist. This kiss is almost better than the first, Clark’s mouth moving sweetly against his.

But Julian has things he needs to _say_ , so he pulls back just a fraction.

“You…you make me feel safe,” he says, looking up at Clark.

Clark squints at him a little, opens his mouth.

“Not in like a…you’re the safe option and I don’t want to risk getting hurt, way,” Julian says hurriedly,cutting him off, “In a…I feel like _I’m_ safe when I’m around you. Like…like nothing bad is gonna happen, if I have you.”

Clark’s smiling a little now, reaches out to take Julian’s hand.

“I want to feel like that,” Julian continues, “I _like_ feeling like that. And I think…I _know_ that’s what I want. That feeling.”

“I like how I feel when I’m with you, too,” Clark says, smile widening, “I…I _really_ like how I feel when I’m with you.”

“So are you gonna stop regretting it when we kiss now, or…?”

Clark laughs a little, tugs Julian closer until they’re pressed together again. He reaches up, lightly strokes his fingertips down Julian’s cheek.

“I never regretted it,” he says softly, “Not once.”

Julian’s smiling when Clark kisses him, this time. There’s that chorus of cheers again, and Julian opens his eyes to see the rest of Haven huddled together, beaming at them.

“God, _go away_ ,” Clark groans, breaking the kiss, “We were having a _moment_.”

Julian laughs, tips his head against Clark’s chest. Clark’s arms are still around him, cling a little bit tighter as Julian giggles. He looks down, smiles fondly at Julian.

“…I guess we have plenty of time for more moments.”


End file.
